


No Touching

by kittysrose



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Brett Pierce/Santiago Lopez, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittysrose/pseuds/kittysrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brett knows not to touch you in school. No hand holding, no cheek kisses, no ass grabs, nothing that could raise suspicion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Touching

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a while and out of my own selfish desire for some Brettiago I created this. 
> 
> Santiago and Brett have a no touching rule in school.

Brett knows not to touch you in school. No hand holding, no cheek kisses, no ass grabs, nothing that could raise suspicion. You establish a no physical contact rule the second day of Freshman year when one of the upper class men first liners label you two butt buddies after a harmless massage incident in the locker room turns into a show all for the whole team.

You tell Brett what you have is special and no one in school needs to know. They’d just make assumptions and fuck it up for you. Brett glances at a crumpled shirt on your bed room floor and nods understandingly. “We can still make out though,” you grasp his chin between your forefinger and thumb for good measure and force him to look at you, ”it just has to be here or at your house.” The light returns to his eyes. 

You start dating Norah Puckerman because what else are you supposed to do? She’s hot and lamely dangerous and just your type. You fuck her under the bleachers at the beginning of second semester and you ask her to be your girlfriend after you fake an orgasm. She lights a cigarette and shrugs, ”Sure. Why not?” You grin satisfied and the first thing you do when you get home is tell Brett. He’s already sitting on your bed playing with your Saint Bernard Charlie. When you break the news he smiles softly and lays his head on Charlie’s stomach, “That’s super cool, San.”

Only it’s not super cool and you know that. But you’re doing this for the both of them. As scared as you are to get the shit beaten out of you for liking what you like you’re more afraid for Brett. Brett saw the best in people and his lack of shame had almost gotten you in trouble a few times before. The kid saw nothing wrong with your relationship. You couldn’t chance him letting your escapades slip in one of his tangents. It made your stomach drop when you imagined what could result from Brett’s loose lips.

Your study habits have gotten progressively worse as the year goes on. The stress of juggling two relationships and your course load makes you break out into hives. Quentin Fabray is your savior though. He lets you copy the world history homework at lunch and he makes you start believing that not everyone in this shit hole is totally horrible. You two become quick friends and it’s not long before Brett takes a liking to him as well.

It’s a Thursday and the three of you plus the rest of the second string are sitting at your usual table shoveling pieces of pizza down your gullets and chugging milk. “Can I see the homework, Quen?” He pulls it out of his back pack and slides it across the table, “thanks, man.” He waves you off and you start copying it. A few minutes pass and you briefly remember hearing a chair screech across the sticky linoleum as you finish up the answer to question seven. A tap on your shoulder forces you to tense and prepare for whatever meat head has it out for you today.

But when you turn around to face the suspect there’s no one there. You whip your head to the right to meet Brett. He chuckles softly and for once you’re not intimidated by his gesture. It was just a tap on the shoulder and you give him a small genuine smile in return. The type of smile only reserved for him and your Abuelita. Something inside you forces your legs to push against the floor and before you know it you’re standing up and giving Brett the look. You don’t see or hear him but you know he’s following behind you at a safe distance. 

When you reach a small musky janitor’s closet, the one Quentin takes Fiona to during fifth period because there aren’t any cameras in a 100 foot radius of it, you push open the door and listen to it close and then open a second later. The closet is dark and humid and you almost feel bad because Brett deserves better than a quick bone in the supply closet but that doesn’t stop you from pushing him up against the wall and peppering kisses up and down his throat the way he likes.

“What about the no touching rule?” You roll your eyes because that rule was stupid to begin with and you’re seriously regretting putting it into place in the first place. “I changed my mind, Brett Brett.” You use your leg to push apart his and move your lips to just above his own. The kiss is small and nothing compared to the ones you’ve had before but it’s so much better. For a second you don’t have to worry about Norah or history or someone calling you a fag. It’s just Brett. Just warm lips and golden hair and clear eyes and a kind soul. Just your Brett.


End file.
